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A review by yourbookishbff
The Love Remedy by Elizabeth Everett
emotional
informative
mysterious
reflective
sad
slow-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
I picked up The Love Remedy, my first by Elizabeth Everett, for its reproductive justice storyline and character work, and on both counts, it shines. Lucy, our female main character, is an apothecary, one of two female apothecaries in mid-19th-century London, the other being her sister, Juliet. Lucy has inherited their father's shop after his (and their mother's) early death from cholera. While Lucy excels in chemistry and treatment formulation, her sister, Juliet, excels in patient care, and splits her time between their shop and a free clinic for women. The two women are exhausted, worn out by the daily demands of their jobs and recent obstacles (a flighty brother mysteriously investing in unknown business ventures, a love interest who absconded with one of Lucy's most groundbreaking formulas, only to patent and sell it for a fortune, etc.). Our male main character, Thorne, enters the scene as the private investigator ("bookkeeper") Lucy has hired to recover a second missing formula.
We have a few plot threads at work - the mystery around the second missing formula, the sibling tension (lots of lying and withheld information here), and a slow-burn romance between the overburdened Lucy and the seemingly tireless and sturdy Thorne. Thorne, as a single dad, sober alcoholic, and recovering aristocrat, has built steep walls around himself and his daughter, Sadie, to keep memories of his past away and to build a new life for himself. Within these confines, though, he's developed some maddening assumptions about himself and others, about women's roles, etc. While he made ME want to hit him in the face with a book one (or a dozen) times, he is an authentic reflection of a 19th-century aristocrat unlearning a lot of absolutely violent nonsense about class, station and self-worth. Lucy, on the other hand, understands well her societal limits and challenges these in small and large ways every day, and is, understandably, exhausted by the fight.
Where this romance works beautifully is in Thorne's commitment to seeing her, listening to her, and giving her peace and comfort. It is painful to read Lucy panicking on page, to see how she's constantly undermined by her OWN FAMILY, to see how she forgives those who hurt her before coming to terms with the pain they've caused her. I loved seeing how Thorne navigates this, and how his own character development is shoved along as he tries to be a person she can confide in and depend on. I loved their love story.
Mildly spoilery discussion to follow:
All of that said, I loathe Lucy's family to a degree that I'm not going to be over for a while. I love that Juliet provides women with abortion care, and that is the extent of my love for Juliet. Even David, despite all evidence to suggest he's well-intentioned but flighty, has earned none of my forgiveness. The nobility of his cause does not excuse his lies, withheld information, and decision to invest their money without their input, discussion or support. Not one of Lucy's siblings respected her enough to be honest with her, ask her what SHE WANTED, or treat her like an adult. Thorne and Thorne alone earned my forgiveness by the end of the third act. My frustration with Lucy's family curdled some of the third-act resolution for me, and had I not wanted to drop-kick them into a different character universe, this would have been a five-star read.
We have a few plot threads at work - the mystery around the second missing formula, the sibling tension (lots of lying and withheld information here), and a slow-burn romance between the overburdened Lucy and the seemingly tireless and sturdy Thorne. Thorne, as a single dad, sober alcoholic, and recovering aristocrat, has built steep walls around himself and his daughter, Sadie, to keep memories of his past away and to build a new life for himself. Within these confines, though, he's developed some maddening assumptions about himself and others, about women's roles, etc. While he made ME want to hit him in the face with a book one (or a dozen) times, he is an authentic reflection of a 19th-century aristocrat unlearning a lot of absolutely violent nonsense about class, station and self-worth. Lucy, on the other hand, understands well her societal limits and challenges these in small and large ways every day, and is, understandably, exhausted by the fight.
Where this romance works beautifully is in Thorne's commitment to seeing her, listening to her, and giving her peace and comfort. It is painful to read Lucy panicking on page, to see how she's constantly undermined by her OWN FAMILY, to see how she forgives those who hurt her before coming to terms with the pain they've caused her. I loved seeing how Thorne navigates this, and how his own character development is shoved along as he tries to be a person she can confide in and depend on. I loved their love story.
Mildly spoilery discussion to follow:
Graphic: Panic attacks/disorders, Sexual content, Toxic relationship, Medical content, and Abortion
Moderate: Death, Sexual assault, Medical trauma, and Death of parent
Toxic relationship: her freaking family
Sexual assault: off-page, side character
Abortion is a significant, on-going part of the storyline given Juliet and Lucy's work
There is one mention of a trans character that felt odd to me (I didn't love the description of this character, but will assume that it's possibly calling back to details from previous books, as I know this character is a known one for folks who've read Everett's previous books)